so much less forlorn. And that a man should be compelled to carry about in his breast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was not a thing one could face.
"Come, come," he said in his cheery voice; "we 'll find her yet."
"We must begin at once. No time must be lost," Mr. Carrisford fretted. "Have you any new suggestion to make—any whatsoever?"
Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain face.
"Well, perhaps," he said. "I don't know what it may be worth. The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the train on the journey from Dover."
"What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere."
"Yes; she is somewhere. We have searched the schools in Paris. Let us give up Paris and begin in London. That was my idea—to search London."
"There are schools enough in London," said Mr. Carrisford. Then he slightly started, roused by a recollection. "By the way, there is one next door."
"Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer than next door."
"No," said Carrisford. "There is a child there who interests me; but she is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, forlorn creature, as unlike poor Crewe as a child could be."
Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment-the beautiful Magic. It really seemed as if it might
